Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“Why are people so interested in American football?” I mumble with a confused look. “All they do is bash into one another.”
Karl shoots me a grin before shrugging.
“I have no idea, sweetheart. Your guess is as good as mine because you know I’m from Sweden, and we don’t do this shit there. We ski or play soccer. American football is a mystery to me.”
I shake my head. “It’s so crazy, with all the injuries, not to mention the concussions too. The players can end up impaired for life.”
But then, the channel flips to an advertisement, and to my chagrin who shows up on the screen but Justin West? He looks like he’s in a dentist’s chair, getting his teeth fixed, but that’s exactly the kind of commercial he’d put out. The spot is bizarre, trendy, and yet all-too-compelling, and sure to get a million eyeballs on it.
I switch off the TV, disgusted.
“That bad?” Karl asks, one eyebrow raised.
I sigh, refusing to even discuss Justin.
“No, it’s fine. I just want to do more modeling, that’s all, but I haven’t been getting picked up. I don’t know. Do you think I should get new headshots for my portfolio? Or hit the pavement more? Maybe I should go to more open casting calls because people do get jobs from those.”
Karl’s black brows lower.
“But aren’t open casting calls for TV commercials and shit like that? Do they have those for models too?”
My shoulders slump a bit as my boyfriend massages my feet in his lap.
“Kind of. I mean, acting isn’t so far from modeling. Do you think I could pull off a credible American accent?” I tease, trying to speak with the flat twang of the continental U.S. “Do I seem American now?”
Karl grunts with amusement.
“You’re perfect the way you are, Ains, and I love the Irish lilt to your voice. Especially when you’re screaming my name in bed. It’s fucking music to my ears.”
I giggle, about to reply with a sassy retort, but then my phone rings and I see it’s my modeling agency. Speak of the devil!
“Hey Nancy,” I greet in a rush while pressing the cell to my ear. “How are you? I was just about to call you to discuss –”
My manager interrupts. “I’m so sorry, Ainsley, but Bone Talent can’t represent you anymore.”
I gasp, my jaw dropping.
“Is it because I haven’t been getting booked? But that makes no sense because I want to get more jobs, and I need Bone’s help landing them. It’s my portfolio, isn’t it? The photos are dated, and I know I’ve put on a bit of weight lately—”
“No, it’s not that,” Nancy says in a frigid voice.
I pause, stumped.
“Then what is it?”
Nancy’s silent for a moment, but then she speaks.
“Unfortunately, the management team at Bone Talent has made an executive decision to drop you after your Super Bowl stunt. I’m sorry, but diversity, equity, and inclusion remain important to us, and your decision to spread hate is contrary to our founding principles.”
What? Where is this accusation coming from?
“Nancy,” I say in a shaking voice. “I’m on my couch right now. I’m not at the Super Bowl, and I have no idea what stunt you’re referring to. What are you talking about?”
Her voice is clipped.
“Don’t try to pretend like you don’t know, Ainsley. Justin West purchased a Superbowl ad which led to a website selling sweatshirts emblazoned with a swastika on them. Obviously, a swastika is anti-semitic and we don’t condone that behavior. Hate as no place at Bone.”
“Yes, obviously,” I say in a trembling voice. “But what does this have to do with me? Justin and I broke up months ago. You know that.”
Nancy’s voice is clipped.
“We did our diligence. The ad was purchased using an LLC jointly owned by Justin and yourself, Ainsley. You are responsible for the ad, and you are a perpetrator of hate and intolerance. Bone Management simply can’t continue to work with you, and as a result, we’re severing all ties. Your profile has already come off our website, and we’ll forward any remaining royalties outstanding to you this week. Goodbye, Ainsley. We don’t tolerate bigotry and hate, and I hope you find a better way to live in this world too.”
With that, she hangs up and I’m left gape-mouthed, holding my phone.
“What happened?” Karl demands, his handsome features concerned. “Are you okay?”
I blink, still trying to process.
“My agency just dropped me,” I say in a shaky voice.
“But why?” Karl asks, his expression confused. “Is it because you haven’t been getting many call-backs?”
“No, not that,” I whisper, flicking on the TV again. The football game returns, with no mention of Justin’s hate-filled commercial, so I flick it off. Then, I pick up my phone and surf to the Prowler website. Sure enough, the only item for sale is a white sweatshirt emblazoned with a black swastika, and my jaw falls open when I see it.